The Fifth Correction

The Dokuvirus

How not to catch it

Tom sets SMART Objectives

T

he virulent Dokuvirus was first seen on Glenforbis, a world renowned for being the centre of organic fertiliser production, and nothing else. Its dung mines have long been celebrated in the Galaxy, as is its atmosphere. Apart from the miners, only a specific type of person was able to survive there, and property in general was large, air-conditioned and cheap. It was from here that the herds of the indigenous and placid doku, a variety of large, hairy four-horned buffalo, spread out and began to transmit the virus, but only to people they liked.

The actual disease itself is thought to be harmless—it doesn’t kill, debilitate or confuse—but does have a major side-effect of causing extensive hair growth. Some would find this useful and have deliberately infected themselves where the local taxation on clothing is extortionate, but others, perhaps on warmer planets, have suffered major inconvenience, the condition being of benefit only to the deodorant manufacturers—conspiracy theorists have suggested there may be a connection.

* * *

Some 20 parsecs away from Glenforbis, as the house flies (a plague of them there), the newly elected CEO of the multi-national corporation, SCT, Tom Two-Dan $mith (sic), is scratching his head... not because he has contracted the virus, of which he is currently blissfully unaware, but rather because nobody knows what his recently acquired company actually does.

Tom has set himself the SMART (Senseless, Mind-numbing, Abstract, Retrograde and Throwaway) objective of finding out, tracking where all the money has gone after the untimely slaying of the previous CEO, and trying to turn the business around.

Meanwhile in another universe, possibly at right-angles to his present reality...

Mission Orders

Foilside presses the wrong button

Tay hits the right ones

C

hief Overseer Raymond Foilside wheeled his motorised baking-tin into the main office of the Temporal Conduct Authority. Their slogan, ‘Si irrumabo cum Tempus, Nos irrumabimus Te’1 was recognised and feared throughout known space. He regarded the leggy blonde-haired biped bending over the main surveillance pad in the centre of the room, and silently cursed the fact that the String Theory, which suggests that all things are possible somewhere in the multiverse, had left him without any of the necessary appendages to take advantage.

Morning Chief, the girl straightened and swept her lazy grey gaze upon him.

G’day Agent Tay, he replied, a small river of drool leaking out of what he liked to call his mouth. The girl bent towards him and dabbed it out of his tin with a super-absorbent J-Swab, deliberately giving him a tantalising glimpse of her loose complex network of branching ducts and lobules firmly covered in a layer of fat and skin. He was annoyed about his optical processors filtering and reducing his enjoyment of the vision to mere biological data, but he controlled the irritation; he knew that he had to motivate his team; things had not been going swimmingly at the TCA recently.

He cleared his throat, one of the organs that the String Theory had decided to leave him with. Morning Team.

Morning Chief, came the reply from the varied collection of species that constituted his line-up of investigators.

Are we floating all the boats today?

Sorry Chief? The question came from a large hairy creature with the look of a St Bernard dog.

Firing on all cylinders, Lazmik; travelling at warp ten; punching every monkey?

Absolutely Chief; everything is running to plan.

Still suffering from the hair then, Agent Lazmik Foilside raised an eyebrow at his shaggy subordinate.

Yes Chief, it appears I can’t get rid of it since I did the job on that planet with the methane problem.

"Yes. I remember that abortive mission, where they had failed to curtail illegal Janhard odour eliminator smuggling in the dung mines. You should see Nurse."

I did. Apparently there’s no known cure.

I’m very sorry to hear that. What flowers would you like at the funeral? Do we need to have a whip-round?

The hairy face split into a grin. You can, Chief, and I’m sure the Drachmas will come in handy. It’s not actually life-threatening, only a bit hard on the department strimmer.

Riiiight. Foilside rolled into the centre of the office. Listen up team. There was a scraping of chairs, sloshing of liquid and whirr of caterpillar tracks. I have been notified of a major irregularity in the Multiverse.

What, another one? The blonde biped perched herself on a stool and stretched a tanned portion of lower extremity that runs from the knee to the ankle towards him. He activated the elevator under his tray until he was on eyelevel with her.

Yes, another one, Agent Tay. This one however might suit your particular talents. Shall we have a look? He produced a remote-control unit crammed with small buttons and pressed one. The coffee machine gurgled and spat boiling water on to the office goose, which gave a honk and careered through a house of cards that one of the investigators had nearly completed.

Bugger these controls, said Foilside, Why don’t they ever make the buttons big enough for a normal person to operate?

Twats and twelve-year-old designers who have no idea about functionality testing, said Tay. Somebody brilliant creates the technology, and it then gets passed on to kids for the aesthetics; they’re very cheap, of course.

Make a note to eliminate the supplier, said Foilside. He inspected the control. The Nishant Corporation, it says here. Do we know where to find them?

I’m sure we can track them down, said Lazmik, I’m looking for something to kill in my spare time.

Don’t you mean something kill your spare time?

Lazmik grinned.

Foilside nodded. "Good, set that as another of the objectives in your PDP2; you may be able to fit it into Volume 3, between ‘solving galactic poverty’ and ‘making me a cup of cocoa’. He looked thoughtful. Then again, perhaps you can leave uncovering the kimono on that one later; put it on the back-burner for the moment. Talking about burning, we actually have a barn-burner here for a change." He banged the remote on the side of his tray and the holographic viewer on the end wall shuddered into life.

The image showed a wood-panelled office with a large mahogany desk. Leaning on the desk, a pert girl in a business suit was toying with her wispy blonde hair… and behind her…

Tay gave a gasp. Not him again?

Yes, him again. Foilside grimaced. I thought we’d ‘eaten the frog’ on that ‘bag of viper’s but it seems that our noble principal, the Cyclic Imperator, has made a ‘Whitehouse Decision’ to give us the action item of bringing the Universes back into sync.

What again? said Lazmik. I know we are a bit short of work here, but how many times..?

A non-issue, said Foilside. We must do what the empty suits decide, and I’ve decided that Agent Tay is the right operative for the job. We have to fish or cut bait on this one.

I’d rather not. Tay shook her head.

What have you got against fish? said Lazmik. I like a nice halibut.

"Everything I’m afraid, if you are referring to the slang version of the word3. You see, every time I go near Two-Dan $mith (sic), for reasons I’m not going into at the moment, we end up shagging like bonobos."

What, like Simon Green, the well-known British musician, producer and DJ, or are you citing that talented Paul David Hewson from the band, U2, in universe 2D$1? Foilside tore his gaze away from her breasts.

No Chief. Tay sighed. You say this every time I mention my private life with that man. I refer to those creatures called Pan Paniscus, formerly the pygmy or dwarf or gracile chimpanzee.

I knew that. Foilside grinned. It’s on my map; I know everything about Two-Dan… apart from why his name has to have ‘sic’ in brackets.

That’s not his real name, but we have to put it in to show the typist it isn’t a spelling mistake, put in the trainee, a small dark-haired woman, who was studying espionage with them after returning from a twenty-year maternity leave, Which it was originally, of course.

Okay then, Two-Dan $mith (sic) needs to be returned to his anchor point in Time-space and Universe. The ‘scuttlebutt’ is that he currently resides in Universe 2D$4.

By ‘anchor point’, Tay fought the programmed feelings rising in her lower regions at the mention of Two-Dan’s name, I presume you mean that he is requiring termination?

That is the usual interpretation. I know it will be like pegging eels to a wet washing line, but you are the best, er, man for the job.

Tay took a breath. I can’t do it.

You won’t?

No, can’t. You know I’m a gynoid…

Of course, a female android; I keep forgetting, you look so human. That would explain the fact that you have been working for the TCA for… he counted on his fingers, …nearly 1500 years now.

That’s right, said Tay, I’ve tried to terminate him on several occasions, but my programming always prevents it. You would be wasting our resources sending me.

I skimmed the dossier and saw that you and he went back a long way. That’s why I thought it was right up your drainpipe.

We go further back than you think, muttered Tay.

This means I will have to orienteer the skills ecosystem for replacements, grumbled Foilside. I simply thought it would give you pleasure…

It would, but that wouldn’t get the job done. Tay shuddered.

Of course. The Chief scanned the room. Who else is job-ready at the moment?

Bott and Scaly, said Tay, a little too quickly. They haven’t been in the field for a while now and may be getting rusty.

Bott probably is, said Lazmik. After he suffered that last mix of cookie-dough…

Remind me?

It was the ‘Dung-Blanket Case’. We were set up by those Bit-Coin miners who were working underground. They thought we were investigating them, panicked and poor Bott got flattened when they kicked out the pit props.

The Chief grimaced. We had to plug the dyke with recycled parts to keep him alive, didn’t we?

I’m afraid Nurse had to use a few leftover spare parts to patch him up, said Tay.

She didn’t do a very good job, said Lazmik.

That’s because our component orders never get signed off, complained the gynoid. The Imperator insists on doing everything himself these days, and says we are very short of cash; he seems to have a nice car and house, despite the fact we even have to buy our own badges and bus tickets. In Nurse’s defence though, how were we to know that the flexible ferrous material she found so useful would degrade in some environments?

You could have asked Scaly; said Lazmik, he’s the scientist.

Aren’t they all, said Tay, shuddering.

I’ll donate them a clarion, said Foilside. Hold hard, team.

* * *

A short while later, the two special operatives were standing in front of the Chief, Bott a mishmash of flesh and mechanical components, and Scaly, a multi-legged arthropod, roughly the same height when upright. They were both eyeing Tay lecherously, Bott her body and Scaly her timepiece.4

Watch the elephant in the room please, operators. Foilside slapped a pair of appendages together to attract their wandering gazes.

The creatures snapped to attention. Bott fished around on the floor, searching for the part that had just snapped off. Even the plastic is degrading, he muttered, as he retrieved the broken fragment and tried to fit it back into the gap in his torso.

Never mind that, said Foilside impatiently. We need to steam into action-city here. Go and see Nurse before you leave. I’m told she has more components, now that the refuse collectors are refusing to take all that waste we thought was recyclable.

Sorry boss. Bott stuffed the splinter into his pocket.

I’ll take him after the briefing, said Scaly. Trainee Zeta, would you be so kind as to book an appointment with Nurse for exactly thirty-eight minutes from now? He clicked his forcipules5 and pressed the timers on five of his main watches.

Exactly? said Zeta

Exactly, replied Scaly, only it is now thirty-seven minutes and fifty seconds. Please pay attention."

Impressive, said Foilside, but how do you know precise timings?

Your briefings Chief, said Scaly tiredly, last on average fifteen minutes. You flirt with Tay for three minutes, after which you ask us to join you for a coffee. That takes two minutes while we politely decline. We then give in and have eight minutes to drink before you dismiss us. The walk to surgery from the coffee salon takes ten minutes, which we can vary by plus or minus two, depending on our chosen pace; total thirty-eight.

I’ll sleep peacefully in my bed knowing that, said Foilside sarcastically.

I am glad to hear it, replied Scaly. Your improved quality of slumber will reinforce the peak of efficiency we are pleased to enjoy each day. He returned to his more normal prone position and curled up under a table.

Are you taking the piss? said Foilside. He tried to gauge the expression in the collection of ocelli forming Scaly’s compound eye but, he reflected, one of the reasons for employing a quadrillipod as investigator was their total inscrutability. They also made excellent interviewers, mainly because criminals were invariably bipeds and were ‘creeped out’ by creatures with more than four appendages; a boon for any modern ‘Temconauterie’, as they had started calling their offices since the administration outsourcing deal with the French.

Foilside decided to ignore the supposed abuse. Right, he repeated, I need you guys to go to Universe 2D$4. You will find the target on an island at these coordinates. He indicated the main screen. There was a teeth-tingling scraping from somewhere underneath Scaly as his scribing appendages recorded the information on a writing slate. The rest of the members of the office wailed and covered their ears.

Do you really have to write it down? grimaced Lazmik. Can’t you simply remember the mission, or get yourself a K-Pad like everybody else?

No, said Scaly firmly. You know the adage; ‘I hear, I remember ten percent, I see, I remember thirty percent, I write, I annoy one hundred percent’.

So, write on a K-Pad then! Lazmik pressed the point. It went through his trousers and made him jump.

And what happens if I can’t get within range of a charging outlet?

The power packs are guaranteed to last for three months… unless you play ‘Hyperwars’ on them of course.

Of course, agreed Scaly, looking slightly guilty, but my slate never runs out of power.

Gentlemen, interrupted Foilside, as Lazmik’s foot hovered in the air, about to stamp on the quadrillipod’s head. Can we move the battalion on, please? The briefing period is running short.

Do continue, Chief, said Scaly. We are all ears.

I expect you are. Foilside grunted, wondering about arthropod anatomy. He brought up a hologram of Two-Dan. On the island you will find this man. Tay shuddered and became very interested in her nails. Foilside continued. I want you to read him his rights and then terminate him, okay? Scaly, you can use your forcipules to immobilise him and take him somewhere quiet. He seems to be quite popular where he is, so we don’t want to ‘shoot the puppy’ for us by advertising his execution.

Just that, boss; kidnap the man and terminate him?

Just that. Keep a low profile. He regarded the quadrillipod as it rippled across the floor on thousands of feet. Of course, you do already. He addressed Scaly’s partner. And you too Bott. You won’t be allowed any death-stars on this job, partially because of the security arrangements, but mainly because you are a trigger-happy psychopath, and I can’t afford any more compensation claims.

Sorry, boss. Bott looked contrite. My finger gets jammed as soon as I pick up anything with a trigger. So how do we..?

Once you have him, you should use whatever equipment you can lay your hands on to bludgeon him to death. Make it look like suicide, of course.

Can’t I take the portable Hadron Collider? said Bott hopefully. We could blast our way in and take him by surprise. They’d never be able to find all the pieces.

No Bott, your robotic components should be enough to get you in and finish the job. Once you have tacked that burger, send the signal and we will come and extract you. That should keep the king-suit happy for a few days; you know how grumpy he gets when someone is upsetting the balance of the Universes.

The detectives nodded, and Scaly reared up on his hind appendages, cheerfully munching a piece of cheese he had found under the fridge.

Now, said Foilside, Anybody fancy a cup of coffee?

There was a scraping of chairs as the office emptied.

Good Company

Tom Investigates a Process

Vac gets a uniform

T

om Two-Dan $mith (sic), the self-appointed Chief Operating Officer of SCT, which he suspected stood for ‘Syndicated Consultant Trusts’, although nobody could confirm or deny it, leaned back in his sumptuous leather chair and regarded his business-like personal assistant, perching perkily on the edge of the desk. Amber had wispy blonde hair, wide blue eyes and a long slim body that she had spent a lot of time toning up, but that is not important right now; what is important is that she had brought some rather disturbing news.

Say again, Amber. I’m not sure I understood what you are telling me.

I didn’t believe it either, sir, she replied, but I can find nobody in the entire organisation who has a clue what we actually do, and believe me I have searched everywhere. The nearest I got to any sense was the tea-lady, who was able to inform me about some of the things that were happening. It’s not a happy picture.

But everyone seems to be busy, rushing about, doing things, said Tom. "What is going on?"

They seem as if they are automatically following set routines.

Routines, from where?

There is a large book known as the Process Manual, which tells them everything they should be doing.

Tom scratched his neck. Have you looked at the manual? Do those routines lead anywhere?

I did, and I tried to trace them, but I get to a point where all information disappears. Everything ends up in a single location.

And that would be?

Change Management, sir.

Ah. Tom put his hands behind his head, and stretched. Change Management eh; and who would be in charge of that?

Nobody’s really sure, but the name Ramón is mentioned by a few of the more disillusioned members.

Ramón eh?

Yes sir.

Disillusioned?

It seems that everyone else in the organisation has something bad to say about Change Management, but even inside that considerably sized division, there are people who have a conscience and want to get out.

You said ‘considerably sized’? How considerable?

Er... since you downsized Human Resources…

Intellectual Capital. I renamed the department.

Sorry sir, since you downsized IC, we have saved a great deal of money, but net outgoings are still  in excess of income, and a lot of them are leaking out through Change Management.

I was looking at the balance sheet. Apparently we have no income at all, apart from interest on loans and sale of key-rings.

I was coming to that, sir.

Which reinforces my theory that we don’t actually produce anything?

I haven’t been able to find a company product so far.

Tom sighed. Anyway, back to Change Management. You were saying that there are members there who are not happy in what they do.

Given the right incentive, they admitted the same.

I find that hard to believe.

So did I sir. They were most reluctant to share any information to start with. Apparently if they say what they think, they lose their jobs. After a few drinks in that nice restaurant down the road however, they were only too happy to tell me what they knew.

Um, sorry Amber, but you have been drinking with them?

It’s okay sir; they put the lot on expenses. It didn’t cost them their hard-earned wages.

Expenses, they have expenses when the Company is in this state?

They said that their leader signs them off without question. That was one of the perks for working with Change Management... that and their monthly bonuses. That’s why nobody leaves.

And you found out all this over a few drinks?

And other things. Tom noticed a slight flush around her ears.

I only asked you to check a few details, not sleep with the targets.

Amber blushed. I thought it was the only reliable way to find out more, sir. I did it for the Company. You know how dedicated I am to the Company.

I do now. Tom, regarded his PA with mixed feelings. She had come a long way since he met her as a timid hostess at an airport, where she helped to save him from losing his life (again). With her steadfast support he had been able to settle quickly into this organisation. He had rewarded her with the job she now held, and was in admiration of her dedication to her career. She was able to keep him at arm’s length, whilst still being efficient and reliable. He was grateful for that. Life was complicated enough already without getting squelchy with his PA.

Sir? Amber’s voice brought him back to the present.

Sorry, I was thinking about how we met.

Serendipity, she said.

I thought it was at the airport, but are you happy at your work?

Very much, sir; you and the Company are my life.

And your investigations?

I like to give one-hundred percent.

I think fifty-percent would have been sufficient, thank you. Despite their platonic relationship, Tom was strangely disturbed at the thought of Change Management hands roaming his assistant’s figure; it seemed to him that they were already screwing the Company enough.

I had to gain their confidence sir.

Very good, Amber, but in future though, fifty-percent will be sufficient for your job specification.

Yes sir. Amber blushed again and Tom fidgeted. An awkward silence pervaded the room.

The intercom buzzed. Tom took a breath. Yes? he snapped.

Vac, Sah. Permission to enter?

Tom nodded to Amber. We’ll talk a bit more, later. In the meantime, could you see if you can find out more about this Ramón character?

Amber nodded and slid off the desk. Tom watched her curves moving as she strode towards the door. She turned. He pretended to be looking at something on the empty desk. Shall I send Vac in, sir? He’s been waiting outside since yesterday.

Yes, please.

The girl swung open the double doors to leave, and there was a waltz as she and Vac each tried to let the other through. Tom felt slightly disappointed that his efficient secretary had revealed herself to be human after all.

No chance of the man now standing stiffly to attention in front of him at his desk falling prey to that weakness, he reflected. Vac.

Sah!

Welcome.

Thank you, Sah.

Yes?

Yes, Sah!

Tom grinned at his Chief of Security. Vac was a member of a small tribe of primitives who called themselves Skagans, living on the island that SCT had adopted as the secluded location for their head office. The tribe had proved surprisingly enthusiastic when he offered them employment. Until then, they had apparently been spending their time exercising to the peak of physical perfection or wandering about aimlessly. He had been puzzled at the lack of children in their village. One would have thought that if they had nothing else to do, they would have considered it an acceptable pastime; these people were the most beautiful race he had ever seen; Vac himself would have made even Superman weep, and go back to basic training.

You wanted to see me, Vac? he prompted.

Yes, Sah.

Go on?

Sah?

What did you want to see me about?

I wanted to report that we have removed the perimeter walls and fences. Permission to leave the barbed wire in place, Sah?

I told you that we did not need walls and fences around my house, Vac. Why do I still need barbed wire?

Insurgents, Sah.

But I found out that the only insurgents in the area were your tribe pretending to be insurgents so that you had an excuse to fortify my place.

Can never be too careful, Sah.

Really, but who would want to kill me, apart from the dismissed members of HR I suppose, and the ‘Cyclic Imperative’ because I’ve travelled the Multiverse, oh, and my wife of course? How is Suzanne by the way? Have you managed to stop her drinking?

The detention centre troops are working on it, Sah.

"Good, I hope you are making progress. I need her sober enough to sign divorce papers someday. However, apart from all those people who want me dead, I think I’m safe here, so there’s no need for going over the top with security measures.

They won’t be a problem, Sah.

Why? Tom regarded the man in the black leather. Nice uniform by the way.

Thank you, Sah. Top quality doku leather: imported.

It would have to be.